


A Fine and Perfect Boy

by Meridians_of_Madness



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Cock Warming, Crowley Submits to the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, Dominance, M/M, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25564054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/pseuds/Meridians_of_Madness
Summary: Aziraphale trips and falls headlong into a kink that Crowley's never mentioned.-Written for the kink meme prompt foundhere.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 476
Collections: BRNZ_GO_BDSMandKink, Top Aziraphale Recs





	A Fine and Perfect Boy

Crowley, Aziraphale believed it was fair to say, was one of life's grumblers. Throughout most of the morning spent moving and rearranging the cryptoerotica section of the bookshop, and indeed through most of the course of human history, Crowley had kept up a steady stream of small complaints and irritable mutterings. Today the topic ranged from pedantic angels to the native imperfection of any mortal organization system to the various and other sundry things that occurred to him as he toted books back and forth.

Aziraphale honestly liked it; it was a reminder of Crowley's presence and of the fact that the world was ticking along at a soft grumble rather than a terrified shriek. It served as a kind of white noise as he picked through his inventory cards, and so when it stopped abruptly, he looked up in alarm.

Crowley stood on the other side of his desk, his hands unaccustomedly loose at his sides, his lips slightly parted and his eyes, oh they shone like gold coins. Aziraphale stared at him in confusion, before glancing down at the steaming cup of tea he had just been handed and replaying the last few seconds searching for a clue.

_There you are angel, don't say I never gave you anything._

_Ah, good boy._

“Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry,” he said without thinking. “I certainly didn't mean-”

“No, no, of course you didn't angel,” Crowley said. “'course you didn't. My fault, really, _I'm_ sorry-”

Aziraphale frowned, his confusion if anything, deeper than it was before.

“Crowley, why in the world are _you_ apologizing?”

Crowley's shoulders rose up sharply and dropped as he looked everywhere in the shop except at Aziraphale.

“Oh, I dunno, I was just. With. The tea. Ah, let me have it back. You know, I'm sure I forgot the sugar.”

“It's just fine,” Aziraphale protested, because it looked perfect, but Crowley was already reaching for the teacup.

Aziraphale saw now that Crowley's hand was shaking, and really, that was quite enough of that. He placed his hand over Crowley's firmly, pressing it lightly to the desk. Crowley could have pulled away, but instead he went as still as stone, eyes down, something so vulnerable to Aziraphale in the way his hair fell over his eyes and his body bent towards him.

Aziraphale let out a long breath when he realized Crowley wasn't going to talk, and that meant that he had to. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what was going on, if he had hurt Crowley with his careless words, if _good_ was just _nice_ dressed up in barbs, but then he looked closer.

No, he knew with aching clarity what Crowley looked like when he was in pain, and this wasn't pain. It was something else, something beautifully familiar, and Aziraphale set his teeth in his lower lip for a moment, teetering between a reasonable adult chat and –

“ _Very_ good boy,” he murmured, and Crowley whimpered, high and breathy and so longing that it was hard to remember what either of them had been doing before.

Aziraphale rose from his desk, not letting go of Crowley's hand, not daring to blink because if he did, perhaps it would break this strange and lovely spell.

“It seems that you've been keeping something from me, my own,” Aziraphale said softly. “Or were you as ignorant of this as I was?”

Crowley straightened up a bit, looking away, but Aziraphale noted with interest that he didn't try to free his hand or back away. Aziraphale idly ran his thumbnail along the creases in Crowley's palm, and he was gratified with a slight shiver before Crowley spoke.

“I am not sure I know what you are talking about, angel.”

It wasn't a lie, not quite, and Aziraphale considered. There was still the option of backing away and settling this like reasonable adult-shaped beings of eternal light, but he suddenly became, perhaps irrationally so, afraid that this opportunity would pass and they would never have it again. _Greedy,_ Crowley might have said, but then he had never seen himself strung as tightly as a Stradivarius, so very ready to be plucked for a single utterly perfect high note.

“I cannot give you what you want unless I know what that is,” he said very gently, and even then, Crowley was already shaking his head.

“It's nothing, nothing, 'm not _supposed_ to-”

“It strikes me that it has been a rather long time since you fretted about _supposed to,_ my darling. Is it only that you cannot say?”

A short and almost heartbreakingly hopeful nod.

“Then I shall have to guess.”

“I'm _sorry,”_ Crowley began, but Aziraphle tapped his lips with a sharp finger.

“I shall tell you when you need to be sorry,” he said firmly, and his mind flashed back to a garret apartment in Vienna, paper everywhere, a window broken and a cold wind whipping in. The memory was as vivid as the day it happened, and then it dissolved under the force of Crowley's sudden attentive silence.

Someone without Aziraphale's resolve, and, to be perfectly honest, without Aziraphale's slightly bastard arrogance, might have lost their nerve under a gaze that wanted to so much, but Aziraphale was himself and he liked it just fine.

“All right then,” he said, pleased. “I see we understand each other.”

He paused, considering, and it occurred to him how Crowley wavered on his feet, rocking just a little from side to side. It wasn't the arrhythmic swaying that Crowley got sometimes when he was angry or the frustrated little twitches that seemed to flicker from the core of him straight out to his fingertips. It was something else, like a ship on the verge capsizing in winds that were too violent for it.

That certainly wouldn't do, and Aziraphale removed the well-worn cushion from the seat of his desk chair, laying it softly on the ground.

“Kneel, please,” he said, and Crowley dropped to his knees so quickly and so hard that he would have bruised without the cushion there.

From behind him, Aziraphale ruffled his fingers through Crowley's hair, scratching his scalp firmly with his fingernails and raking his nails from crown to nape. It never failed to relax Crowley, and it helped now that he was wound as tight as a clock spring.

“So you have been here before,” Aziraphale said, “with me. With others. But this feels new for us, doesn't it?”

When Crowley didn't answer, Aziraphale cupped the back of his neck gently, giving him the gentlest shake.

“Not with others,” Crowley said gruffly. “Never.”

“Really? Not even with sweet Mary? I remind you, I saw you kneel to her and kiss her birch oh so prettily...”

“Not like this,” Crowley said, his tone emphatic. “That was a game. Bit of fun, taking the piss out of Byron. It wasn't _this.”_

“And now we are examining what _this_ is. What a pleasure you are, my darling, what an unending box of delight.”

“I could show you my box of delight if you like, angel,” offered Crowley, sounding halfway back to normal. “Got it tucked right here...”

“Well, is that something a good boy would do?” asked Aziraphale mildly, and he smiled when Crowley's head dropped and a shiver went through him.

“No?” The voice was small and vulnerable, almost heartbreaking if Aziraphale didn't know that Crowley was in very good hands.

“I was rather asking you,” Aziraphale said with some amusement. “Never mind though, I am sure we will come to a proper definition with just a little bit of experimentation.”

For several moments, _experimentation_ only looked like ruffling all ten fingers in Crowley's hair as he swayed slightly on his knees. Aziraphale watched in rapt fascination as Crowley's eyes drifted shut, not as if he were sleepy but as if everything in him was sinking into some dark and placid sea.

_He never lets me do this so long,_ Aziraphale thought, pleased. _This is something new._

Perhaps he should have been content with this, but he would never settle for a plain slice of bread if he could have it buttered, and he let his hands drop away from Crowley entirely.

Immediately, Crowley's eyes flew open, panicked and searching, and that wouldn't do. Before he could speak, Aziraphale lay his hands gently over Crowley's eyes.

“Let's keep these closed, shall we?” he asked softly, and he watched as Crowley's throat bobbed and the demon nodded once.

“Very good,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley stirred at the words so close to what he seemed to crave.

“All right, darling. Take my hand and stand up, please.”

A little like a mermaid trying out legs for the first time, Crowley leaned into Aziraphale as he stood, his eyes still shut. Aziraphale wondered if he had any idea how very vulnerable he looked like this, without that piercing yellow glare, his lips slightly parted. Right now, it felt like a secret just for him, and Aziraphale leaned in to kiss Crowley very gently.

Crowley jumped at that, but when he became still, when he returned the kiss with a tremulous shy hunger, Aziraphale smiled, nipping every so carefully at his lower lip.

“What a good boy you are,” he murmured, and Crowley moaned softly, hands coming up to hang on to the lapels of Aziraphale's vest as if he might otherwise fall.

“You are looking a little wobbly there, my own. Let's see, how shall we steady you?”

Crowley made a soft muffled sound, and Aziraphale tilted his head to one side. He was clever, but sometimes being clever meant knowing when to ask for directions.

“Tell me,” he said softly. “What do you need right now?”

Crowley's tongue licked out to wet his lips. He had to swallowed twice before he could speak.

“I want to be. On you. You in me.”

“Taken,” Aziraphale guessed. “Impaled.”

Crowley groaned at that, his eyes still shut.

'And if I want to keep you like that?” Aziraphale asked, mesmerized. “If I want to read for a while? If I want to make some calls.”

Crowley hesitated.

“Would that make you feel neglected or unloved?” Aziraphale asked. “I don't want that.”

“Maybe … maybe a little.”

He made a surprised noise when Aziraphale leaned in to kiss him again.

“Thank you for telling me. What a good boy I have.”

Aziraphale wondered if he could wear the phrase out, saying it so often, but Crowley's gasp was as new and raw as when they lucked into it.

He led Crowley over to the low sofa by the fire, sitting down on it while Crowley stood before him. He kept his foot pressed against Crowley's own to make sure that he didn't think he had been abandoned, and he spent some time just looking at his darling. Crowley could be still sometimes, but it was never quite like this, never quite so jittery or yearning. It was beautiful, and Crowley was letting him look, which was delicious.

“All right, my dear,” Aziraphale said presently. “Clothes off.”

Crowley's hands moved fast, stripping his clothes and leaving them in an untidy pile on the ground. Naked, he was pale as chalk in the dimming day, the tiny scales hidden in the joints of his hips and under his arms a slight and secret gilding. Crowley's cock was half-hard, but there was no urgency to him at all, at least not in that direction.

“I am so very lucky to have you, my dear. Here. Kneel down and bring your pretty mouth here.”

Aziraphale took his cock from his trousers, and with his hand resting lightly on Crowley's hair, he guided Crowley forward. There was something breathtakingly artless about the way Crowley took his cock in his mouth, something that made Aziraphale draw a low and urgent breath.

Crowley excelled at sucking cock. He was good at it as only someone dearly in love with the act could be. He could keep Aziraphale on a taut edge for what felt like hours, giving up the ability to breathe or to gag just make it a little better.

There was none of that care or patience now. Instead there was something frantic in Crowley's movements, something utterly careless and needy. He took Aziraphale too far down his throat, almost gagging himself before Aziraphale tugged him back. His shoulders came up as if he wanted to cover himself with his wings, and his hands fisted hard in Aziraphale's trousers, desperate to steady to himself.

Desperate, thought Aziraphale, was the right word, and a fierce need to protect and care for his very good sweet boy came over him, almost but not quite removed from the arousal that was rising in him like a tide.

“There you are, darling,” he murmured. “Nice and wet, make it easier for yourself ...”

Crowley whimpered as the meaning of Aziraphale's words sunk in, and he bobbed his head, making a dear mess of Aziraphale and of himself. When Aziraphale finally pulled him up, his mouth was as red as his hair, his breath coming in deep gasps.

_Eyes still closed_ , Aziraphale noted with a satisfied smile. _Perfect_ boy.

“All right, sweetheart. Come along. Over me, facing out. You know how to do it, don't you?”

“Y- yeah. 'Course.”

The shaky words told Aziraphale better than anything how high-strung Crowley was right now, and he considered it as the demon came to meekly straddle his lap, facing out as he had been told and so careful to get it right.

“You're doing so very well, darling,” Aziraphale murmured. “That just right. That's ever so good.”

Crowley's soft whines sent a surge of heat through Aziraphale, and rather than simply sheathing himself in his willing lover, he took a moment to spread him open, to inspect his hole, to run the pad of his thumb over the tight whorl and to watch Crowley tighten against him instinctively.

“No, darling, that won't do,” Aziraphale said. “You're going to need to relax. It's only your own spit there to ease your way. I shouldn't want you to hurt yourself.”

Crowley mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like _don't care,_ and Aziraphale's eyes narrowed.

“That is an order,” he said sternly. “You are not going to hurt yourself doing this for me. If you do, and I find out about it...”

He left it dangling because, honestly, with Crowley like this, he doubted he could even manage to come up with a credible threat, let alone carry one out.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Crowley breathed, shuddering in the most delightful way, and Aziraphale smiled, taking in the length of his spine and the way his sharp shoulder blades jutted out, tense and giving everything away.

“Good boy,” Aziraphale said, and this time he didn't let Crowley sink in to it before he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock and pulled Crowley back to meet the tip.

Crowley sent his hands on Aziraphale's sturdy knees, arching his back with his head down and Aziraphale watched his sides go in and out as he took just the first inch inside himself. He had slicked Aziraphale's cock well, but there was always something so beautifully obscene about watching that tiny opening spread over the broad tip, reluctant at first and then less so.

“That's right, my darling, breathe through it. There's rather a bit more to go.”

“I know, I know,” Crowley said, just short of a wail, and he shifted, rocking on Aziraphale's cock and taking him by fractions.

Aziraphale watched Crowley sharply for any sign of hurt or force, the least little indication that he was going to find a way to martyr himself for Aziraphale's pleasure. That was a brilliant bit of fun when they cared to play with it, but Aziraphale sensed that it had no place here, that if they did bring it here that it might stop being fun and start being a little too real to be borne. Aziraphale might have had compassion for martyrs, might have wept over them and done his best to soothe them, but he did not take them to bed.

No, what he wanted was Crowley easing himself down on his cock, his perfect demon opening for him as if he had been made to do it. He wanted to listen for Crowley's breath to go long and deep, for that certain lassitude to come over Crowley's usually wound-too-tight frame. All right, he was just enough of a bastard that he wanted Crowley to struggle just a little bit, but suffer, no, never.

Aziraphale's eyes were half-closed with pleasure by the time Crowley fit him entirely inside, Crowley's bare rear pressed flush to Aziraphale's clothed hips. He imagined that the buttons on his trousers dug into Crowley's flesh, but Crowley didn't complain, only squirming as Aziraphale drew gentle hands up and down his flanks.

“Angel,” Crowley whined, and Aziraphale laughed.

“What a fine job you did, such a good boy, my good boy,” he said. “Look at you taking all that for me, so very clever and sweet.”

“Are you going to-?”

He groaned when Aziraphale rode up into him, a slow roll of his hips that left Crowley's hands tightening on his knees.

“Fuck you? I don't think so. It's rather too delicious to have you like just – ah, yes, just like that, dearest, clenching around me. I dare say I could stay like this for some time. Is that all right with you, Crowley?”

Crowley made a garbled sound, causing Aziraphale to tilt his head politely.

“You're going to have to speak up, dear.”

Crowley started to speak, and Aziraphale pushed up into him again, making him pant and curse and then guiltily clap his hand over his mouth. Even from behind, Aziraphale could see the red blush spilling down Crowley's shoulders.

“Darling,” he purred, “You are my good boy until I say you are not, and not cursing – or questioning – or talking back – or probably even disobeying – is going to change that.”

With every word, he pushed up into Crowley's yielding body again until the demon was quivering like a leaf and whimpering nonsense words that all seemed to combine into a continuous murmur of _thank you._

“Very good. Now why don't you get your hand around your cock? I believe I want you to come all over yourself with my cock up in you. That sounds, nice, doesn't it?”

He watched with avid delight as Crowley shifted, pulling back slightly so he could palm his own erection, stroking the shaft and pulsing around Aziraphale's cock at the same time.

“And if you need anything to help you spill all over yourself, tell me.”

“Is that an order, angel?” Crowley managed, and Aziraphale smiled, showing teeth that felt sharp even to himself.

“It is, my own.”

“Then tell me where you learned to do this.” Crowley said, leaning back a little further. The change in angle made Aziraphale grab at Crowley's hips to steady himself, the pleasure suddenly a little sharper.

“Where I learned to what, satisfy desperate demons with a love of being told what to do?”

“Y'learned that with _me,”_ Crowley said, half-laughing. “No, I mean this _good boy_ stuff. I don't miss many tricks, but I missed that one, didn't I? Tell me about your first, angel. I know it's not me, and I promise, I won't be cross with you.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, wondering about confidences and secrets entrusted to him, even if the person involved was dead and gone. Idly as he thought, he rolled his hips up against Crowley's body, listening to Crowley's breathless curse as he did so.

“I learned that I liked this in Vienna,” he said, “in, oh, the 1850s or so, it must have been.”

1853, he wasn't going to forget that in a hurry, but he did have a duty to keep poor sweet Lukas's identity to himself.

Crowley shifted, sending a shiver of pleasure through Aziraphale's body. His hand had grown languid on his cock, almost calm.

“And what good boy did you meet, _oh, in the 1850s or so?”_

“He was a composer,” Aziraphale said, unruffled.”Brilliant, but, ah, undisciplined, shall we say/”

“Too much for the girls or the boys? The gambling tables? The hashish?”

Aziraphale's hands tightened on Crowley's hips, holding him still.

“My darling good boy _will_ be content with the details I give him,” he said mildly, and Crowley squirmed against his grip, nodding even if his hand was never still.

“Good. We shall leave it at undisciplined in a way that made inspiring him rather difficult, and I did try. I gave him oh, everything he might need, a space to work, plenty of inspiration, educational opportunities, entertainment, nearly everything he could want.”

“You spoiled him rotten, and then you were surprised when he was spoiled rotten.”

“Indeed. Rather a problem that I don't intend to repeat with you.”

Aziraphale reached up and took a firm hold of Crowley's hair, dragging him back to rest almost flat against his chest. Crowley was a heavy damp weight on his body, shuddering and mewling at the change in position, He couldn't get quite as deep into his darling boy like this, but it put Crowley's ear right next to his mouth, and it allowed him to reach around to take Crowley's cock firmly in his hand.

“I would never let you run so very wild,” he murmured in Crowley's ear. “I would never let you smash up a casino and come limping home out of your head. Not you, my good boy.”

Crowley whimpered, tightening around him and shifting up against his hand.

“But you did,” Crowley breathed. “Let him and let him and let him until … until what happened?”

Aziraphale hummed, considering.

“I'm afraid I lost my temper. Then we were both shouting, and I was almost ready to call it a wash and pretend I had never been in Vienna at all, no matter his potential. In all that time, I had always tried to phrase it as what evil he was doing to himself, what harm he was doing to his own soul, his own genius. I had never before told him how disappointed I was in him or how hurt I was by what he had done.”

“Oh,” Crowley breathed, and Aziraphale's hand moved faster. He could figure out what kind of violation of past trusts this might be later. Right now, all that mattered was the way Crowley twisted over him, how heavy he was and how open.

“Never want to disappoint you, angel,” he murmured. “Don't say that to me, please ...”

“Then be a good boy,” Aziraphale purred in his ear. “Then do as I tell you. I know you can. I know that you _want_ to, and all you have to do is try a little for me. Won't you try? Just a little? Be good for me, and I will make you feel ever so good. Be good, and I will love you and adore you and give you absolutely everything you want...”

Crowley wailed, tightening like a chain snapped taut, and then he was spilling over Aziraphale's fist, the heat and wetness of his pleasure shooting onto his belly and over Azirphale's hand, his body clamping down hard over Aziraphale's cock. Aziraphale might have come himself at that sudden close throb, but he banished it with a thought, far more intent on trailing his fingers through the mess on Crowley's stomach, in telling him how good he was, in wrapping his free arm around Crowley's chest so he never for a moment was afraid he might fall.

“Perfect, utterly perfect for me, and so very good,” he murmured, and when Crowley's shivers turned to something more emotional rather than physical, he helped him up off of his body and then brought him right back to the couch, curled in a blanket and nestled safe and out of sight under Aziraphale's arm.

There would be time later, Aziraphale thought, to speak with Crowley when they were both upright and clothed, perhaps in different chairs with a bottle of scotch between them, about what this all meant, what it might change if anything, if this could hurt as well as help. The reality of what he had done and the risk was already beginning to nibble at him, and he wouldn't mind having some of his own fears assuaged either.

That conversation was for the future however. Right now, Aziraphale decided that there was nothing wrong with simply sitting with Crowley, covering him and protecting him and reassuring him that good or not, no matter what came, Crowley was still and simply _his._


End file.
